Firelight
by rhetoricfemme
Summary: What's an eight hour flight compared to 48 hours with your true love? / Sweet, but explicit. Enjoy!


Sweat drips from his brow onto the bridge of his nose, as parched lips curve skyward in prayer that the end never be in sight. Moving in time with conviction, at insatiable, sweltering auburn, lapping up every last movement and sound before it all slips away once again.

Kyoya has become more than used to this particular kind of drought. At this point in life, he doesn't even bother to complain, as it is simply part of the deal. It never does any good, anyway. His typical response to this burning thirst is to bury his nose into his lover's left behind garments, to clutch a little bit harder while pretending Kaoru is safely embedded between his legs, as opposed to Spain.

In his home away from home of America, this has become Kyoya's quiet standard. It's an exhausting season of life, but well worth its weight in unheard utterances and almost-happy endings. They take visits as they come, and it's enough until the two of them step into the light at the end of the tunnel.

But tonight, events play out far different than usual, and it has Kyoya holding on for dear life, because _when it rains it pours_.

With Kaoru here, his conviction is strengthened, faith in the physical renewed as one sweet moan after another falls from the body above him. He supports Kaoru's jet-lagged body on one hand, knuckle-deep and pulling his lover into ecstasy. His own senses are fully blown as his entire world becomes contingent solely on Kaoru's pleasure, whose resting one hand on the headboard for balance and another embedded in raven black hair, pulling just on the right side of _too hard_ for the low growl is elicits from Kyoya's lips.

Imbibed by Kaoru's scent, he picks up on the delicious, subtle change in the air since reaching their bedroom and sighs, because it's everything he's been waiting for. It's evident in Kaoru's white-knuckled grip, and in the stolen glances that flush his face as he watches Kyoya taste him all the way to the hilt.

Kyoya forgoes delicacy in exchange for everything he's able to pull from Kaoru's mouth; an addictive blend of filthy praise and stilted breath that become louder with the good sense to flex his fingers _just like that,_ while swallowing every inch that Kaoru has to offer.

Steadying Kaoru, the moment passes and breathing slows into a place of revelation and glistening skin as Kyoya rubs gentle circles across gracious hips, slowly tugging Kaoru toward him until they've become one. They meet halfway, both of them reaching for a kiss full of promises unspoken but as valid as any cold hard deal written in black for all to see.

Kaoru's heels dig into his fiance's sides, their rhythm an illusion designed to combat the rest of the world so demanding of their time. It's a double-edged sword, as they resolve not to leave this apartment, to not break from this impatient embrace until the last possible moment. Time and again they figure out what it means to know another body better than his own, only to let him slip thousands of miles and months away until the next occasion to make good on promises built up to hearts and flesh alike.

It's an erratic grandeur when Kaoru drives him into the mattress; an experience outdone only by laced fingers and stilted requests to never let go. And just like that, each of them falls pleasant victim to the internal cataclysm that is mutual passion.

It's a compromise like no other, this soul-weary, globetrotting existence. But collapsing into an array of pillows—the pillows ensconced with the scent of a boy he fell in love with years ago, and slept on by the man he chooses to share the future with—Kaoru can find no reason not to chase his success when the end game resides within Kyoya's eyes.

Sighing, Kaoru closes his eyes and nestles further into his lover's side; shoving aside thoughts of his morning itinerary to instead fall into dreams of their elder Tokyo.

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 _fin_

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::scrubs hands down her face::

Hey lovelies! Thanks for reading. I'm in the middle of a four-class semester, and even though I'm exhausted with little to no time for writing, I am in love with Communications. 3 I found this little thing unfinished in my writing folder. I have no clue what its original intentions were, but cleaned it up and thought it was nice enough to stand on its own. I hope you like it!


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